The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

Another

River rings

spread to me,

stroking finger

in the sea;

pockmarked lights,

fog snug tight,

shadow pines

gently glide.

When life puts carpet in your food,

be smooth—

There’ll always be another moon.

When th’world eats you without a chew,

just coo,

‘Cause there’ll always be another moon.

Patter patter,

branches battered,

skies scattered,

colors splattered;

splashing feet,

runny streets,

minty streams,

shriveled leaves.

If they serve you mud without a plate,

let’s play—

There’s always be another rain.

Don’t let them lick the frosting off your cake,

hear caves,

‘Cause there’ll always be another rain.

Crumpling air.

Lightning flares.

Pounding snares.

Soft nightmares.

While mourning the morns the afternoon had torn,

be shore

there’ll always be another storm.

If you shut your hand in another door,

be warm,

‘Cause there’ll always be another storm.

So pour me another,

pour me another.

Posted in Poetry

Blood Isn’t a Vegetable

Snap!

“O, it’s OK:

I’ve got the others.”

But then the last heart string snapped

& he was choked by blood

—which doesn’t taste like pizza sauce.

Posted in Poetry, Proverbs

Bucket

Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
The bucket must be dumped whenever it gets full,
  or it'll spill & feed mold,
    killing us all with its toxic fumes.
But 1 day I will forget.
I try not to, but my mind,
      it slips.
I can't waste time--
  there's only so much;
but like the heathen that is I,
  I let it leave my clutch.
I count the hours squandered.
I count the hours squandered counting the hours.
Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
  Must hurry.
Don't I know my worries will wane
  if I only stop wasting my time in worry?
& here I worry mo' time worrying 'bout my worrying.
I have no one to blame but myself.

I know I should probably ask for help.
No!
I most certainly should not ask for help.
I shouldn't stuff my face with your pie while giving nigh.
No!
I most certainly should stuff my face with your pie.
How uncouth would be such a denial?
We all want to take our vital vials;
  but sometimes prescriptions cause contradictions,
    & the lord that is logic itself stipulates
      that some must be deprived.

So I'll dump that bucket 'gain & 'gain,
  Relishing its empty moments.
Though I see the wall straight 'head,
  I know my smash will be sudden.

Fuck it.
Posted in Crazy, Poetry